To Indeed Be A God
by Corky the Quirk
Summary: You'd think being a Sex God would help me get girls. You'd be wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Once upon a time, I was talking to DeadPoet0712 and we thought, "Hmm, you know what would be interesting, if Charlie was actually a Sex God." And thus, this idea was born, so thank you to DeadPoet0712 for the inspiration :) Anyway, this is just a small snippet sort of thing to see if anyone would be interested in reading something like this before I dedicate tons of time to it and no one reads...so let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dead Poets Society.

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You know, all I really wanted was to get laid. And considering good ole dad is actually _Cupid_, it should've been easy. After all, I'm a Sex God.

No. Really.

I, Charles Eros Dalton, am the God of Sexual Love.

And I'm a fucking virgin.

Am I the only one that sees the irony in this?

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**Author's Note:** Yay for tiny snippets!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** So this story is turning more into Charlie's random rambling, but according to Blackbirdox, who was kind enough to read some of this and give me feedback, it flows. Hopefully you enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dead Poets Society

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It's not hard to lie about your father's occupation. Especially if you've got everyone convinced that he's an out-of-country bank owner. All I have to do is stick to the same old story of how dad is away on business. Hell, that's the truth. The only part I'm really lying about is the fact that my father's not in the banking business. He's in the archery business.

And his arrows are tipped with sappy feelings of love.

Hell, my friends should thank me for even being alive. After all, my dad's the one that caused their parents to get together in the first place.

Nobody ever questions me when I reply with a quick: "My father's a banker."

Most of the time all the adults nod their heads and mumble all this shit about how "respectable" and "steady" such a job is. All of the kids solemnly shake their heads and apologize for the path I have to follow, even if theirs isn't much better.

Really, I have no idea what I'm going to do when I get out of Welton and out of college. My dad doesn't own a bank, so I can't inherit it or anything. And there's certainly no chance in the world that I'm going to sprout tiny wings and prance around in a diaper, shooting people with golden arrows. Although his leafy crown thing would look really good on me. But then again, everything looks good on me. But that doesn't mean I'm going to don a diaper. Diapers are for babies and old people. Of which I am neither.

Knox knows he's going to be a lawyer, and Meeks will most likely invent time travel with Pitts, and I'm sure Todd will do something with writing, and Cameron will pretty much be a kiss-ass loser, and Neil will definitely be famous, but I have a feeling that if I don't get into the love making business (no pun intended, make no mistake, I'd love to get laid) I might just be forgotten and fade into the background. And who wants to be forgotten?

Sometimes I sit on my bed and think. And not just about how Elaine Reynolds boobs look either. Sometimes I actually think about useful things. Not that Elaine Reynolds chest isn't useful at times for when it's necessary for me to release some built up tension, but when I say "useful" I mean I think about my future and how it might play out. Now, I'm not a particularly philosophical guy. Hell, I only know what philosophical means thanks to Meeksie and his advanced knowledge in third grade when he theorized that I wasn't getting my cootie shots because I actually _wanted_ girls all over me. He had been correct, by the way. Auditions for my fuck buddy are tonight, thank you very much.

But when I actually think about what might happen to me, all I see is this big black hole, and I'm forever falling, never grasping anything to stop my downward spiral into wherever it is I'm bound to land. You know, it's one thing to feel discouraged when trying to live up to the image of your banker father. It's a whole other thing to try and live up to your actual father, the God of Love, when you hardly believe in love yourself. Sure, love exists out there, but I haven't found any yet. Damn, I haven't even found anyone that's willing to fall in lust with me. And what more could a teenage boy want? Nothing. At least not this one.

Well, I don't want to be forgotten. And I'd like to get an "A" on the paper I just turned in, although that's very unlikely since I strayed from the topic of Chemical Chemistry to Romantic Chemistry. And I wouldn't mind if I got a brand new car with lightning decals and a license plate that read "CRPE DM".

Okay, so I guess I do want more than just to get laid. But that's not the point. The point is that if I'm the god of sex, then _I should be having it_. How am I supposed to lead my flock of virgins to their first lay when I haven't even got mine yet? I know I seem obsessive, but any other guy feels the same way. Even Meeks. He might act all into technology, but if some nerdy girl from Henley walked over covered in only radio parts he'd become an animal and tap that. Hell, if a girl even mentioned a crystal radio and some high tech terminology, I wouldn't be surprised if Pitts would turn all primal.

In closing, I just want dad to do me one little favor. BRING ME A WILLING GIRL! Is that too much to ask? I swear, I'd never ask for another birthday present or Christmas present or whatever kind of religion my dad wants me to practice. Hell, I'd probably even be willing to wear that stupid toga diaper in the future when he wants to retire. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** So I'm not sure if I like this chapter very much. It's short and Charlie whines a lot...but oh well, here it is. I promise the next on will be better! Thanks for all the reviews :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DPS.

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The day I finally get a date it rains. And not just nice, pitter-patter, oh-look-at-the-rainbow-isn't-it-romantic rain. No, I'm talking torrential downpour; Zeus being a baby and crying his eyes out over some stupid thing like being out of grapes most likely.

To make things worse, I had planned the date. And my plan had been to go on a picnic, with a red-and-white checkered blanket and sandwiches and watermelon and a secluded place where she wouldn't mind me getting grabby because no one would be able to see.

Instead I had to resort to Plan B, which consisted of dinner at the diner and a movie since I was pretty much broke. She didn't like the food (her burger was apparently not done to perfection), she said the movie was drab (what the hell is wrong with girls? That movie was awesome…who doesn't love explosions every five seconds?), she shoved my arm away after I had so swiftly complete the exaggerated-yawn-arm-over-the-shoulder move (I'd been practicing for _years_), and instead of a kiss good-by she called me "lewd" and "boring" (how the hell can I be both lewd _and_ boring at the same time?).

Five minutes later she was making out with George Hopkins like there was no tomorrow. I think it's a sign that I'm just too good for normal high-school girls and should set my sights a little higher. Goddesses are bound to be fun, right? Screw the rumors about them being vengeful…make-up sex is built upon such feelings of despise!

But what if they're really dominating? Not that I'd mind much if the girl took charge every now and again, but all the goddesses I know are really…well, they certainly have minds of their own. They might make me feel emasculated. Oh shit. What if I tried my suave moves on them and they literally castrated me? I need my cahones!

Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that my amazing Sex God skills only rub off on the people around me, instead of actually working in _my_ favor. And who wants god-like powers if they only work for others? I'm not one of those people who donate ridiculous amounts of time to charity cases. I'd like my own, thanks. In fact, I'm certain that's how it works. A good example of such stupidness would be last week.

I was walking in town with Todd because we were searching for Neil because we were bored and he was supposedly at a bookstore that he liked or whatever, I don't really remember; I wasn't paying attention to a word Todd was mumbling with those giant blue eyes of his. I just wanted to get out of Welton so I agreed to join him on his Epic Search For Neil.

The public high school kids had just been released and there was a group of girls heading our way, so of course Todd jumped behind me out of fear of this rare species that we see so little of on Welton ground, and proceeded to try and become invisible. I, of course, puffed out my chest, feeling extremely confident because I had painted a lightning bolt on my awesome pectoral muscles, and gave them my best Smoldering Look.

Each and every single one of them ignored me and jumped Todd. No, not in the sexual way, but they did pull him out from behind me and coo over how adorable and sweet he was. And the funny thing? Todd puffed out his lightning lacking chest and _responded_. Todd fucking talked to _girls_. This was like the Blob deciding it wanted to be a dentist. It just didn't happen. And yet here was Todd, getting phone numbers left and right.

Let's just say he is no longer virginal.

And I'd also like to mention that hearing about Todd's escapades isn't pleasant either.

The boy can't even thank me because he doesn't know that I inadvertently caused his sudden sexual luck.

Being a Sex God is such a fruitless task. I just give and give and give and I get nothing in return. Not even one blowjob.

I don't care how whiny I sound. I didn't get my morning oatmeal today because I wanted to avoid Todd's latest tale. It involved the hot redhead that I had pointed out to him while walking back from the music store that Neil had been in. Todd pinned the legendary redhead of my dreams. He is a dead man. Just wait until I find out a way to reverse this whole thing. He will never have sex again! Okay, maybe I'll be nice and let him have it once every ten years or some sort of deal like that. See, I do have a heart. Sometimes. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** So it's kind of weird for me to be updating this so quickly, but here's another chapter. Thanks so much for all the reviews :D

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dead Poets Society.

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I hate goddesses. Seriously. I thought I'd love them, what with them being crazy beautiful and stuff. But I was wrong. Oh so wrong. They're either stuck up bitches that think I'm a loser, or they're these super maternal, super hot women that pinch my cheeks and offer me cookies and milk. I thought allowing dad to bring me to a party hosted by the gods would be my ticket to losing my virginity. But instead I'm stuck at the kid table with Dionysus and he's all drunk and telling me about his orgies in the woods. AND HE WON'T INVITE ME.

He said it would be too much for me to handle.

Stupid drunk nosebleed.

His cheeks are all red and the tip of his nose makes him look like Rudolph and although he's been bouncing around for hours he hasn't even sweat a tiny bit and his golden curls are still absolutely perfect. And did I mention he has orgies with loads of women in the woods whenever he feels like it? Why is it that I, _the_ god of sexual love, have never even come close to an orgy, yet the god of wine and crap hosts them all the time? Pretty sure the closest I've ever come to being in an orgy is when the Dead Poets meet in the cave. And that's not an orgy that I want to be part of.

I mean…my hair is perfect too. It's just not curly and golden. I got my hair color and texture from my mother's side of the family. But that doesn't make it any less great. It's still silky soft and smooth and styled. Girls dig it. They just don't know it yet. Or they're too intimidated by how dashing I look to actually confront me and tell me "Oh your hair is fucking amazing" and then kissing me. Or doing more to me, whichever floats their boat.

What irks me the most about this "party", which pretty much is the same as all the upper class parties I've attended with Knox, only now instead of mortals I'm in the presence of immortals, is that there are tiny cherubs flying around and playing lyres continuously. Do they not realize Rock'n'Roll is the new hep thing? Get those little guys some guitars and please, _please_ wipe their creepy happy grins off their faces. The same cheery expression is plastered to their face constantly…I'm beginning to think they're magic robots or something. It's just not right.

Finally, after Dionysus passed out (I never knew gods could pass out), I escaped the kid's table. I don't even know why they have a kid's table at their parties; there really aren't any "kids". I'm the youngest. Oh man, that just sucks now that I've come to realize it. It became even more prominent that I was the kid of the group when Hera grabbed me by the back of my shirt and pulled me against her. "Is he not the most adorable child ever?" she cooed to Aphrodite.

Aphrodite, who was sipping out of her wine glass delicately, glanced me over, patted my head, and said. "He's not the most adorable, but he's a close fourth."

Fourth? I'm not even in second place for being Most Adorable Child. Then again, I'm not a child, which I so elegantly shouted at the top of my lungs, receiving disapproving looks from everyone but Dionysus, who was snoring in his comatose state. It just really annoys me that just because I'm seventeen and they've all been around since the creation of the planet that they think it's okay to treat me like a little boy.

You know what else really annoys me? Holes in my socks. They have no business being in my socks. I hate the feeling of one of my toes slipping through a gap in the fabric of my nice socks and then it feels like it's being strangled for the rest of the day, or at least until you can take your shoe off and try and fix it. And then usually I get insulted for having stinky feet, even though I don't, but people at Welton are just mean like that. Besides, even if my feet _were_ smelly, it would be understandable since we walk everywhere and I play soccer and I row…even though that last activity doesn't take a lot of foot movement, you're still getting a workout. And workouts make people smell bad.

Except me. I don't smell bad. Guys at Welton just say things like that because they're jealous of my perfection.

Speaking of perfection, I saw that redhead that Todd had recently banged today at the party. I should have known she was a nymph. They're frisky little devils. But of course all she saw me as was the baby god, and she didn't even bat an eyelash when I told her that Polar bears break the ice. It was a good pickup line, but it went over her head completely, so maybe she's just dumb. In which case I guess I'm not missing out on much.

Oh who am I kidding? I'd jump into bed within in mere seconds if she even just _hinted_ that she was interested in sexing me up.

Alas, twas not meant to be.

But the Fates said the sixties would be good to me. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I'm getting really excited for the upcoming years… 


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Okay, so this is a sickeningly short chapter, and for that I apologize, but I'd like to thank you all for your reviews :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DPS.

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I think I'm going to go blind from all the Playboys I've been looking at and using lately. But really, it's not my fault. If I could just get _one girl_ to show me her rack, then I'd be set.

Maybe.

The point is, I'm a seventeen-year-old guy. It's practically law that I see a pair of breasts by now, if not more than one. At a time.

I hate Dionysus and his forest orgies. That's just not fair.

And another thing that's not fair? Ginny Danbury. Ginny Danbury is not fair.

First she's all over me, the next thing I know she's going crazy over Neil and how awesome he is at acting and how much she loves his blue sweatshirt and the way his hair is so dark. Just because my hair isn't dark and I'm not as tall as Neil doesn't mean I'm not handsome. Besides, the handsome part in the saying "Tall, dark, and handsome" is what's really important.

I'm the one who made her swoon and who took her to the diner and impressed her with how many fries I could fit into my mouth while still saying "chubby bunny" and then when I bring her back to Henley, there's Neil, whooping it up because he landed yet another role in yet another play and Ginny's all "Oh-Neil-you're-so-talented-I-want-to-have-your-babies". Ugh. Girls. I tell you. The world just might have been a better place if they'd been born minus their brains. Then I could look all I want without being considered a "pervert".

And so, once again, my powers work for my friends and not for me. I'm sick of giving and giving and giving. I would like to receive, thank you very much. But not in like…a gay way. I'm not a catcher. _If_ I were gay, I'd definitely be a pitcher. Duh.

My mother never let me play baseball. She said she didn't trust me with a bat when I got frustrated. Which I suppose is understandable considering the neighbor who only gave me apples for Halloween when I was younger no longer has a mailbox. Hell hath no fury like a trick-or-treater scorned.

Last Halloween, Meeks and Pittsie dressed up as mad scientists and then accidentally-on-purpose exploded a few toilets. Meeks was the one who thought it was an accident. Pitts was the one who purposely did it. Meeks is such a stick-in-the-mud sometimes. But he's a genius, so it's worth hanging out with him. Plus he's easy to make blush, and that's a favorite hobby of mine. Who doesn't like making gingers blush? They begin to match their hair and it's very entertaining.

But when it comes to making Cameron red, I like to do that by annoying and angering him, rather than just embarrassing him. Although embarrassing Cameron is pretty rewarding too, but I just don't have the patience sometimes and it's a lot easier to just throw a couple of well aimed insults his direction instead of flustering him with my super smooth ways.

Usually all I have to do is call him a bootlicker and Cameron's face goes several shades closer to that of a tomato. A tomato with matching fuzz growing out of his head.

He will never get laid. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a Sex God and will never have anyone be interested in him. I'm saying that because he's an odd one. And he's a total nosebleed and what kind of girl wants to be stuck with a ginger nosebleed? None of them.

Hell, Cameron's chances of getting laid are much worse than mine. Even though mine don't look very good at the moment, I'm bound and determined to improve them. I'm a sex god, after all.

Then again, most of my plans seem to backfire…

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**Author's Note:** Okay everyone who reads this...I have a mission for you, I want you to list some random things that you would love whiny-egotistical-cocky-SexGod Charlie to rant/talk about. Okay? Okay! Thanks :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Really short. Really random. But what more did you expect from me during my dry spell? Special thanks to Blackbirdox for somehow getting me back on track :) Also, I know the song I used wasn't around back then, but hey...go with it, you'll have more fun.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DPS.

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You know what's really frustrating? When you have a song stuck in your head but you only know one line.

SHE'S LIKE THE WIND!

Really? _She's like the wind._ What does that even mean? Does she blow? And if so, is that a good or bad thing? Blow as in bad, or blow as in blowjob? Songs are just way too confusing.

Or maybe I'd actually understand if I knew the rest of the song.

But if the rest of the song was worth knowing I'm sure my brain would have memorized it. I'm brilliant like that.

_She's like the wind_.

So the other day, Meeks was sitting around with Pitts and me, and we're tinkering around with the crystal radio, except I'm kind of just sitting there staring at the boobs in last December's issue of Playboy and drooling and wishing, and Meeks goes, "I did it."

I barely looked up from Joyce Nizzari's rack, thinking he was talking about getting a signal or something for the radio, but when Pitts doesn't rejoice by jumping around like a fool, I peer over the top of the foldout and raise an eyebrow. No. Fucking. Way. This is Meeks we're talking about. Nerd extraordinaire, ginger, freckly, obsessed with grades Meeks. He doesn't have time for sex, for Zeus' sake!

My jaw drops as Pitts high fives his blushing roommate and my eyes narrow, causing Meeks to shrink away from me. "It wasn't a big deal, Charlie…" he tries to calm me down.

_She's like the wind._

"Not a big deal?" I scream, in a very manly way. "How was it not a big deal, Meeks? How? _You fucked a girl!_" Meeks' casual view of the matter was really pissing me off. "I haven't even been around you very much lately!" I blurted, immediately clamping my mouth shut. Great, just great. Blow your cover, Charles. That'll make your life a whole hell-of-a-lot easier.

Meeks and Pitts both look at me as if I've gone insane, which I haven't, and then they exchange this glance before Meeks adjusts his glasses and matter-of-factly tells me, "The amount of time I spend with you doesn't equal the amount of tail I get."

I was speechless. Where does Meeks get off saying something like that? I'm a Sex God. It completely relates to the amount of time he spends with me! …then again I don't spend time with every person in the world and they're all getting laid, but that's really not the point. The point is I never said Meeks could do the horizontal hustle. So he shouldn't be doing the dirty! Damn it!

He shrugs again. "It's really kind of blown out of proportion."

My eyes bugged out of my skull. "OUT OF PROPORTION!" I held up my Playboy, shoving an abundance of Joyce Nizzari's chest into Meek's face, his nose pressed right against the magazine. "Do you think something like _this_ is blown out of proportion? Pleasure from a woman is the exact right amount of proportion!"

Okay. So I might have over reacted. But not really…

_She's like the wind._

Meeks just blinked calmly before peeling my clenched fingers off of the Playboy and prying it from my hands. "Actually, I think Playboy might blow their models out of proportion."

I growled. "Do not call my girls 'out of proportion' Steven!" I threatened with a wiggled of my finger before heading towards the door of their dorm. I'd had enough of the female-fuck bashing.

_She's like the—_"I HATE THIS SONG!" Oh great. I actually yelled that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** I don't really know how to describe this chapter...I just got angry with some squirrels one day and decided to use my frustration and channel it into Charlie being all whiny and whatnot, so here you have it...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dead Poets Society or any Playboy models.

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Fuck squirrels.

They remind me of women. They chase after you, chattering and yelling, and then when you actually try to get near them, they run away. Squirrels and women. They're all nuts.

Case in point, the other day as I was aimlessly strolling through the Welton grounds, as I like to do so that others can bask in my awesome godliness, I came across a rather beautiful creature: Audrey Daston, the centerfold of the 1959 March issue of Playboy. I tell you, the woman is a vision. I certainly wouldn't mind working on the car she was leaning over in her picture. All blonde hair and blue eyed…not to mention nude, but that's a given, of course.

And so, I do my little chin-jut, just to make sure she knows I'm checking her out, and she does that flirty little smile-and-wave thing that all girls have pretty much perfected in order to tease men, giving me all the signals to just walk on over and sweep her off her feet. And so, being the hunk of handsome that I am, I make my way over to Ms. Daston, hands shoved casually in my pockets, a smirk plastered playfully on my face (because she's gotta love sexually playful guys, right? And that's totally what my smirk tells about me), and she steps back…as in…AWAY from me. Who in their right mind steps away from Charlie Dalton?

She bats her eyes, all apologetically, and tells me she's waiting for her boyfriend. Besides me, what guy at Welton is good enough to score a Playboy model as their girlfriend?

My answer came when I heard a nose like a blow horn.

Spaz.

Fucking Spaz.

Who gave him permission to date Audrey Daston?

He sniffed, wiping at his face with a hanky and stepping right between Audrey and me. "Who's brain damaged now?" he asks, clearly taking a jab at a comment I made about him earlier in the year.

And as I'm staring down at him in horror, what does Audrey do? She wraps her dainty little arm around his neck and begins to nibble on Spaz's ear. Right. In front. Of me.

I'm pretty sure I threw up in my mouth.

And as she's cooing to him about forgiveness and "letting the poor boy off easy" I decide that Spaz's love life is going to die the moment I learn to control my powers.

It is going to die and never come back. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Um, I don't know where this came from. Also, I apologize for a lack of gods/godesses. I haven't had time to research a lot of them lately...so that's why it's a lot of Charlie randomness. Anyway...I feel that Knox is the kind of guy to keep a Man Journal and Charlie is the type of guy to read his friend's Man Journal...

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Dead Poets...

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_Dear Man-Journal,_

_Why can't Chris just like me? I wrote a poem for her. What's more romantic than a poem, Man-Journal? No, really; I need to know._

Oh Knox.

This is basically a summary of every entry in Knox's diary since he first visited the Danbury's and laid his now starry gaze on Chris Noel.

I'd help him if I could, but I can only handle his incessant babbling for so long before my ears begin to bleed.

Oh, and I need to harness my godliness first as well, then I'll shoot a lust arrow through Chris's heart, just for my bro.

And yes, I do read Knox's "man journal". It's way better than doing Latin homework…not to mention Meeks does that for me.

_I don't think I can take much more, Man-Journal. You see, I love her. My love is as pure as the driven snow. Even though I'm not quite sure what 'driven snow' is. I'm sure it's pure. Because that's what the saying is supposed to mean. So it must be. Pure, that is. My love is also like a fire, burning inside of me and just waiting to engulf the world with love. So, my love is like pure, fiery, driven snow. Which makes just about as much sense as the original metaphor, really._

What is he even trying to get at?

_Chris's hair is just so beautiful and blonde and bouncy. Her boobs bounce, too, which is rather nice visually, and I love that and all, but I'm not as shallow as Charlie. I see past Chris's chest and into her heart._

For the record, I'm not that shallow; I just appreciate appearances.

_Oh Chris. Your voice is like the tinkle of a thousand bells. Not the annoying church bell kind, but the pretty, feminine, petite kind that you put on the collar of a cat so that you always know where they're at. Hey, that rhymed! I knew I was a poet._

He said 'tinkle'. Which is the noise my piss makes when it hits the urinal.

_The weather is pretty nice today._

…how does this boy switch from girls to weather so quickly?

_It's the perfect weather to bike to the public high school and see Chris._

And by 'see' he means 'stalk'.

_I love watching her with her pom-poms. _

Is this an innuendo? Because then maybe I can believe Knox is becoming a man.

_It's getting late, Man-Journal. I should probably hit the hay._

_Until next time,_

_Your friend,_

_Sincerely,_

_Knox Overstreet xoxoxo_

Okay…maybe he's not quite becoming a man yet.

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**Author's Note:** I kind of want to write Knox's Man Journal...


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